The Dose Makes the Poison
by SparkofRedemption
Summary: An alternate epilogue based on the ultimately cut scene in the final battle where Draco throws Harry his wand. In which Draco isn't exactly a good guy, but with Hermione's help, he gets a chance at the redemption everyone deserves. Eventual D/H.
1. Chapter 1

Nothing's mine. Just trying to give a character some well deserved (in my opinion) resolution. Open to feedback and suggestions, just keep it constructive please.

* * *

It was her first official day back at Hogwarts since the war. She felt a glimmer of that inquisitive thirst that always filled her at the beginning of each year, but this year it was dampened by the events of the past months.

She alone had decided to return. Ron had started going with Fred to the joke shop over the summer. At first, his mother had sent him to make sure Fred didn't do anything stupid, but soon enough, Ron was going on his own accord,. He seemed to be equally as willing as Fred to lose himself in the put on amusement of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Harry had gone to work for the Ministry. Kingsley had offered him a job as an auror, and though he was supposedly going through some kind of training, she had a feeling that he was just as likely to be the one training as the one being trained.

She'd considered not coming back. She'd thought about finding a job at the ministry herself or even taking some time off to do her own research and think about what to do next. She'd spent a month looking for her parents but realized almost immediately once she found them that returning their memory might be impossible. The guilt from that decision weighed heavily on her, but she imaged the guilt she would feel had they been killed would've been insurmountably worse.

Nevertheless, she would find a way to give them their memories back; she wasn't one to give up. She'd decided to commit as much time as possible to researching charms and potions that could be useful. Her current interest was researching whether some derivative of _veritaserum_ could be used to reveal the truth of their identities to them, but she hadn't gotten anywhere yet. In the meantime, she was content to know that they seemed happy, despite the pang she felt in heart every time she thought of them.

At any rate, she was here now. McGonagall had offered her a room of her own near the faculty quarters and suggested that she undertake an independent study of her own design during her time at the castle. She assured her that she would be able to sit for any NEWTs that she desired to take, but she didn't think Hermione would benefit from sitting alongside the current seventh years in the traditional classes.

Hermione had agreed almost immediately. The stability and quiet of her own place to live, the idea of finishing her education and access to the largest wizarding library in Britain.

And so she found herself hurrying down the hallway, dodging a group of first years and narrowly avoiding Peeves, before finally arriving at her destination.

The library was quiet and mostly deserted. She made her way back to the table she preferred and set her bag upon one of the empty chairs. She pulled out the potions textbook she'd been using to research the relative stability of powdered moonstone when exposed to different kinds of metals and unceremoniously flipped it open to the bookmark.

It seemed only minutes had passed to her, but soon, the lights in the library were flickering out and Madam Pince was informing her the library would be closing in five minutes.

"Surely an exception can be made," Hermione stated, thinking that she'd rather not lose her train of thought, but Madam Pince was nothing if not a stickler for the rules, and in five minutes time, Hermione was throwing her bag back over her shoulder and heading for the door.

The walk back to her room was almost eerie. During the day, she could almost forget how that wall had crumbled or that student's older sibling had been killed, but at night, there was nothing to distract her from giving into the memories of the horrors she had experienced only months ago.

She had almost reached the private room McGonagall had offered her for the year when a small cough startled her from her thoughts.

Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away from her with his eyes hidden behind his hair as he dug through his bag for something. Her first thought was alarm, but then she remembered that part of his avoiding Azkaban was a period of probation involving his continued education (which seemed rather insane to her, considering what a danger he'd been to the place during the war), and she reminded herself what she'd seen him do in the end and what Harry had told her about his mother.

Taking a calming breath, she spoke, "Are you lost?"

He looked up at her, clearly unaware that she'd been standing there. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before answering, "no. No, I'm not lost, Granger. I've only lived here for almost half of my life."

"That's rather an exaggeration, don't you think?" she replied.

He said nothing and went back to digging through his bag, muttering something about a "bloody key."

Hermione had just decided to ignore his presence and keep walking when he looked back up at her with exasperation.

"Did you need something?" she asked. She didn't particularly want to bother herself with whatever his problem was, but she couldn't help but help people who needed it. Ron thought it was because she was such a know-it-all she couldn't stand to let a question go unanswered. Maybe he was right, but she didn't think the reason mattered so much as the part where she was helping people.

He sighed audibly. "McGonagall gave me a key. Why I couldn't have a room with a portrait, I don't know. Why the thing can't be unlocked with a spell, I don't know. And now I can't get in." He shook the handle of the door in front of him for effect.

She had no answer for this. Her room had a portrait, and she doubted she knew any unlocking spells that he hadn't already tried.

"You'll just have to go see McGonagall then," she finally said.

"Yes, well if it were that easy, I would've done it already, wouldn't I? I may not be the brightest witch of our time, but I'm not Weasley either."

"That was uncalled for," Hermione said quietly. She looked away from him and moved to continue her walk down the hallway.

"Wait," he called after her. She hesitated, but she didn't turn back towards him.

"I'm…well I'm not going to apologize," he said dryly. "They do call you the brightest witch of our time, don't they? And Weasley is something of a dunderhead."

She closed her eyes as she felt annoyance rising up within her. She decided the best thing would simply be to ignore him, so she started once again down the hall.

"Will you just…" she heard his footsteps come up behind her, and she darted away from him as her wand flew out of her sleeve and into her hand.

"Bloody hell, woman," he cried, taking a step away from her with his hands in the air. "Calm down, will you? I'm hardly dying to be your friend, but you realize I'd be condemning myself to a life in Azkaban if I so much as looked at you the wrong way?"

She knew he was right, but she couldn't shake the unease she felt at his being so close to her, at his talking to her.

"Look, mud- mmm," he cut himself off and pressed his lips together uncomfortably. "Granger. I don't want your help, but I don't want McGonagall's more. Your kind of her lackey, aren't you, can't you do something?"

Hermione made a face at him and scoffed. "I'm sorry, did you want my help? Because you're acting like a right prick, and I'm not feeling inclined to do anything for you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Learned a few words from Weasley then?" he sneered. "Just get me into my bloody room, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the year."

She started at him blankly, not sure whether she was going to give into her nature to be helpful or to leave him to sleep on the cold, stone floor of the hallway. Her Gryffindor nature finally won out.

"Fine," she said raising her wand again. He visibly flinched, but all she did was say, " _accio_."

They key in question flew out of his pocket and into her outstretched hand.

His cheeks colored in embarrassment; he hadn't even thought to check his pockets, he'd been so sure he'd dropped the key into his bag.

She held the key out to him, and for a moment, neither of the them moved.

He finally reached out and took it. He turned to the door and opened it, not bothering to spare her a glance as he stepped inside the room.

"You're welcome," she sarcastically. His only response was the slamming of the door.

"Unbelievable," she muttered. She once again began walking in the direction of her room, thinking that if she never had to run into him again, it would be too soon. Unfortunately, she would run into him again the very next day.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time she saw him was the very next morning. She realized her mistake the moment she saw the door to his room. She made to turn around and find another route to the Great Hall for breakfast, but it was too late. He just had to walk out of his room and look straight at her before she had the chance. She decided to continue by as if his presence was nothing to her.

"Malfoy," she said as she passed, not making eye contact with him.

He didn't respond, and she was relieved. Then she realized he must be heading to the Great Hall too. They walked down the hallway together for an awkward minute with him trailing her by a few feet when she couldn't take it anymore.

She abruptly turned around, intent on going back to her room and waiting until lunch to eat.

He said nothing as he watched her go and continued towards the Great Hall.

Once she turned the corner out of his sight, she stopped and leaned against the wall. She was hungry. She was a grown woman. She was being a coward. Why should she miss breakfast just because he happened to be in the same hallway as her?

She straightened her back and with her head high, she turned back around the corner only to run smack into him.

"Watch where you're going, woman!" he snapped.

"Don't call me that like it's a dirty word!" she snapped back.

"Any other words you'd like to add to the list of things I shouldn't call you?"

She glared at him with an intensity that almost caused him to take a step back. "Are you following me?" she asked.

To her surprise, he looked away awkwardly, but a split second later, his arrogant posture returned.

"Of course I wasn't following you. Why would I willingly put myself in your presence?" he bit out.

She rolled eyes at where this banter was likely going. "You know what, Malfoy, we're adults. How about we just agree to ignore one another, and if we must speak, we'll say as little as possible and at least attempt to be polite about it."

"Fine," he agreed with a sneer.

"Fine," she spit back at him. "Where were you going, anyway? There's nothing in this hall except mine and few other professor's rooms."

"I thought we were going to say as little as possible, Granger," he replied before storming off back around the corner.

She huffed indignantly at him. How could anyone stand to be so rude all of the time? But she was content to ignore him as they walked down the hallway towards the Great Hall once again. She felt more comfortable being the one in back.

When she entered the Great Hall, the comforting chatter of hundreds of happy students greeted her. She made her way to the front of Gryffindor table where the other students tended to avoided. She imagined they didn't want to risk the professors hearing whatever they were discussing, but she didn't mind. She didn't much want to talk to anyone anyway.

After breakfast, she made her way to the dungeons where she would continue her experiments with the various ingredients in _veritaserum_. As part of her research the various day, she'd designed a trial to determine whether the theoretical evidence concerning powdered moonstone's greater stability when combined with Jaberknoll feathers in a cauldron of silver aligned with actual practice.

Not for the first time since beginning her endeavor to create a potion that could restore her parent's memories, she felt regret at what had happened to Professor Snape. Then she felt remorse that she mostly felt regret because she wished she could ask him questions.

She shook head and started laying the necessary equipment out on the table in front of her. She placed a small piece of moonstone into her granite mortar and placed the pestle on top but stopped short of grinding it as a thought occurred to her. If a silver cauldron is likely to yield greater stability, should she use a silver mortar and pestle? Perhaps she should use silver shears to remove the Jaberknoll feathers? Or was the overdoing it with the silver? How much of a difference could the equipment used to prepare the materials really make? Of course, that was a question that would've lost her points for Gryffindor if Snape had heard her ask it.

She sighed in frustration as she realized once again how complicated this task was shaping up to be. On day at a time, one experiment at a time, she told herself.

She prepared the powdered moonstone and Jaberknoll feathers as she normally would and added them to the simmering silver cauldron in front of her. Turning back to her book, she read a note in the margins she'd written about the properties of lavender, and since the potion seemed to be brewing nice, she decided to go ahead and add some lavender since this was the next piece of the formula she was considering.

Powdered moonstone for it's properties in revealing the truth, Jaberknoll feather's for their ability to give the person consuming them clarity and lavender to provide a sense of calm acceptance.

She pressed the lavender with the side of knife to release some of the sweet liquid inside and gathered them up, counting out exactly how many she was going to add so that she could reference the results later.

Right before she opened her hand to add the lavender, another hand grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled it away.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" the voice attached to the other hand asked.

She whipped around to find Draco standing there, her wrist painfully stuck in his fist and a look of disbelief on his face.

"I take it back, you're not the brightest witch of our time. Although I never actually said I agreed with whoever decided that," he said.

"Let go of me!" she interrupted, yanking her wrist away from his grasp.

"Not until you let go of the sage," he replied, squeezing her wrist that much harder against her struggle to pull away.

"What! Sage, lavender looks nothing like…" she trailed off in embarrassment as she glanced at the pile of lavender, well not lavender, on the table. She felt the heat rise in her face. In her hand was 10 petals of _Russian_ sage, which true looked rather more like lavender than sage but behaved nothing like it. Russian sage and Jaberknoll feather…she gasped and opened her hand, letting the sage fall to the floor.

Draco finally released her wrist. He looked at her with a kind of smug satisfaction.

She glared at him in response. "Well, since you're such the potions expert, I'll let you clean this up then."

She practically ran across the room, berating herself for being so stupid. What had she been thinking? That was a mistake a third year should know better than to make. And if Malfoy hadn't been there…

"You're welcome," she heard him call from across the room before the door shut between them.

* * *

He looked at the cauldron simmering in front of him with interest. Powdered moonstone, Jaberknoll feather and, he assumed she'd meant to add, lavender. Not a combination he was familiar with. And in a silver cauldron, no less. He wondered briefly where she got before deciding that McGonagall must have ordered it for her. Of course the Golden Girl could have anything she wanted.

He opened the reference book to the side of the room and cross referenced the three ingredients, but he found no potions that they had in common. He supposed the reference book wasn't an all inclusive text, and it was probably quite old from the looks of it, so perhaps she'd found instructions for a newer potion that she wanted to try. It didn't surprise him that she'd want to be an overachiever in potions along with everything else she knew. Though her mistake had been a pretty dumb one, he thought, for someone trying brew complicated new potions.

He considered dumping out the contents of the cauldron and taking the opportunity to use the silver cauldron for himself before she came to her senses and returned, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Alright, Granger, let's see what you're up to," he said to himself as he crouched down to count how many sage petals had fallen out of her hand. "Ten petals of lavender, then."

He'd watched her crush the sage petals lightly with the side of her knife, so he likewise crushed the lavender with the side of his. Ten petals later, he hovered his hand over the cauldron, and thinking he was surely going to regret this, he let go.

The moment the lavender hit the liquid, a swell of soft, sky blue smoke rose to the ceiling and the liquid turned a remarkable shade of bright, royal purple. And the smell. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite place a finger on it. The sense of nostalgia grew, and soon he was lost in a memory he couldn't remember but somehow knew had happened.

His mother was holding him, looking down at him from above. Rationally, he knew she was speaking, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. But he knew it was English. Why couldn't he understand? He felt warm. He wanted to sleep. No, he wanted to eat. No he wanted to sleep and eat.

He was jolted out of the memory as he fell back onto the floor behind him. The face looking down at him was no longer his mother's, it was Grangers.

"Have you lost your mind? Are you alright?"

 _Are you alright_? Yes, that's what he'd been wondering earlier. That's right. "I was looking for you earlier," he told her. Wait, what? "You look so pale when you turned around, I thought maybe you were sick or something." Shut up, shut up. "I just wanted to be sure you were alright." Why are you still talking? The rational part of his head couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, but they kept coming out anyway.

"What have you done to yourself?" she asked. Her incredulous look had become a concerned one.

"Oh that's nice," he said. "That's nice of you to be worried about me. No one every worries about me except mother. Maybe father, but he only worries if I'm going to embarrass him. Not like mother." Inside his head, he felt like he was going to die of humiliation.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness passed over him, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he'd come to his senses.

He sat up so quickly he felt a muscle in his neck burn in protest. He threw his feet out to put as much distance between himself and Granger as possible. Had he really just said all of those things out loud? No, of course, he didn't, he thought. But the way she was looking at him, he knew he had.

He caught sight of the sky blue smoke out of the corner of his eye. He remembered.

"What is that?!" he exclaimed, pulling himself to his feet.

She placed a steadying hand out as he swayed, but she ignored his question. "What happened? What did you feel? You didn't drink it, did you?"

"No, I didn't drink it! What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"

"The kind that messes around with someone else's potion that he knows nothing about!"

"Yea well you kind of left me with it!"

"I came back! I was only gone a few minutes. Besides, how should I have known you'd do something stupid?"

"You were the one that was about to blow up a potion in your face!"

"And how did you know you weren't about to? You don't even know what I put in there."

"Of course I know what you put it there. I'm not terrible at potions, you know, I wouldn't have done anything if I didn't know what was in it."

"You were watching me?"

"No, I was…No! It's a silver cauldron, I was curious, and I happen to be very observant."

They fell into a heavy silence, both of them feeling that the other's stupidity exceeded their own. The only sound to be heard was the simmer of the cauldron gently boiling beside them.

"What were you trying to make?" he asked.

Her shoulders slumped. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. I was just being foolish."

"You, being foolish? Come on, what is it?"

She looked at him with doubt, trying to decide whether she wanted to trust him. Well, she didn't trust him, that was certain, but he did know a lot about potion ingredients. Maybe he could help? But that would mean telling him about her parents, about what she'd done. Maybe she could frame it as an academic exercise and not mention her parents. Yes, that would do.

"I'm trying to combine the properties ingredients used in various truth, clarity and calming potions to find a combination that could reserve the effects of memory charms. Or potions," she finally told him.

"Oh well if that's all," he said rolling his eyes. "Leave it to you…wait, you said you're trying to reverse memory charms? As in, give memory back to someone who's been obliviated?"

She shrugged her shoulders in response. He knew he was going to regret the thing he said next.

"I think you're onto something."

"What, because you couldn't keep your mouth shut? I'm not trying to recreate a truth serum, we already have one of those…"

"No," he cut her off. "Before you came back, I had a dream. Or well, not a dream. It was a memory. But it wasn't like a normal memory. I'd never remembered it before, but it was like I was reliving it. It was…" he stopped short of telling her what the actual memory was. She didn't seem to be listening anymore anyway. She was looking at the cauldron with an odd combination of desperation and joy.

"You mean it helped you remember something you'd forgotten?" she asked quietly, like she was unsure of her words.

"Well, I suppose you could put it like that," he replied.

When she looked up from the potion and turned back to him, he was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes. More surprisingly, he felt some unnamed emotion that made him want to reach out and hold her until they stopped. She sniffed, and the feeling quickly passed.

"What's the matter with you, Granger? Get ahold of yourself," he said gruffly.

"What did you do? What did you add?" she asked, ignore his slight.

He found himself answering her, then drawn into a conversation about the ingredients in front of them, then draw into yet another conversation about other ingredients with similar or contradictory properties, that segued into a conversation about different potions they each had experience making and somehow, they even discussed their favorite colors (hers was a sky blue similar to the smoke emitted from the potion, his was silver like the cauldron).

The rest of the day was lost to them, and when they finally made their way back upstairs to the Great Hall for dinner, they each thought the walk down the hallway together felt a little less awkward.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to those who have stopped by! Sorry it's been a while...as to what follows, nobody panic, this is still a Dramione, it just didn't seem realistic to ignore Hermione and Ron's relationship. Well, none of it's realistic, but you know what I mean.

* * *

Saturday came quickly enough, and Hermione found herself making the trek to Hogsmeade to meet up with Ron. They'd been in a tentative relationship since the war was over, but Hermione wasn't sure what exactly to call them. Ron just didn't seem to have the capacity for a real relationship. She wondered if it would've been that way if things had been different, it they hadn't lost so much before the end, but she'd never know now.

She found in The Three Broomsticks with a firewhiskey in hand. The way his shoulders slumped and his eyes seemed to look forever past the toothpick he twirled between his fingers sent a wave of sorrow through her chest.

"Hello, Ron," she said, trying to make her smile look friendly rather than pitying. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. She breathed in his scent, which she noticed still gave her a sense of calm and security even after everything that hadn't happened between them lately.

"'Mione. I'm glad you could come. Feels like ages since I've seen you." She smiled weakly at that because really, it had been ages.

"How's the shop? George?"

He grunted in response. "We're about to start promoting a new product. It's like a...a...er...what d'you call those lizards that disappear?"

"A cha-"

"A chameleon, that's right. You suck on it and it makes you sort of blend in with everything around you. Course, it's got nothing on Harry's cloak, but it's better than a lot of similar products out there."

"That's exciting, Ron!" she gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm sure it wasn't easy coming up with the charms for that."

Ron shrugged in response and took a swig of his whiskey. "It was Fred's idea, mostly. He'd almost finished it before...well." Ron trailed off and his eyes took on that blank look again.

Hermione turned away and tried to regroup. It seemed like they couldn't have a conversation anymore where Fred or Lupin or Tonks or any number of other friends they lost didn't come up. She waved down Madam Rosmerta and asked for a butterbeer to help fill the awkward silence that had come between them.

"You know what," she called Madam Rosmerta back, "I'll have a firewhiskey instead." Ron glanced at her with a flash of surprise in his eyes but said nothing.

They sat there together for a few minutes, sipping their firewhiskey, lost in their own thoughts.

"There you are." A voice behind her startled her from her reverie, and she turned to face it. She hardly had time to process who it was before Ron was on his feet with his wand in his hand.

"Back off, ferret. Nobody here wants your company." Draco eyed Ron's wand warily but either decided he thought Ron was bluffing or that he wasn't particularly threatening because he took a step forward into Ron's space and said, "actually, Weasel, I'd imagine anyone would prefer my company to yours."

Ron's wand clattered on the floor as he launched himself at Draco. The two boys (well, men really, but Hermione didn't they deserved that distinction at the moment) fell to the floor in a flurry of arms and legs. Hermione jumped back as Draco's foot shot out towards her knee.

"Wanker...son of...bloody..." Their insults flew between them, cut-off by one another's punches and their breathless fury.

Hermione noticed a small crowd of students gathering to watch the fight. She looked back at the boys again and decided she'd had enough.

A burst of wandless magic later, Ron flew back against the bar while Draco went careening off towards the crowd. Draco seemed to come to his sense almost immediately as he looked toward her with shame entering his eyes, but Ron's temper still had control of him.

"You stay away from Mione. I don't care what Harry says, one thing doesn't make up for being a prick your whole life. You probably didn't even want to do the right thing anyway, you're a bloody coward, you just saw that we were winning and you were afraid you'd end up in Azkaban like dear old dad."

The fire returned to Draco's eyes as he launched himself towards Ron again.

"What is the meaning of this?" They would know the sound of that shrill voice anywhere. Students scattered as Headmistress McGonagall approached. Ron and Draco reluctantly pulled away from one another as she drew up next to them.

"Well? Have you nothing to say for yourselves? Brawling in front of children! Mr. Malfoy, detention, and you'll return to the castle at once. You, Mr. Weasley, should count yourself quite lucky that you are no longer under my purview."

Ron smirked at Draco, but immediately wished he hadn't as McGonagall continued, "though you might prefer detention to what you mother will say when she hears of this."

Ron's smile fell from his face, and he started to bite out a protest before withering under McGonagall's gaze.

"I believe I told you to return to the castle, Mr. Malfoy." With those final words, McGonagall turned and swept out the shop.

Draco glared daggers at Ron for a moment more before turning to follow McGonagall.

Ron turned to her with an expression of disbelief.

"A project?! Why the bloody hell would you want to work with that sod?"

"Language, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "As it happens, he and I are the only students taking an accelerated study with Professor McGonagall. We literally have no choice but to work together sometimes."

"I don't like it," Ron returned, slumping back into his stool. He drained the rest of his firewhiskey and turned to look at her.

His face softened as his eyes met hers. "You're beautiful, Mione. I wish you'd come back. We could try, really try. I love you, you know."

Tears pricked Hermione's eyes as she reached out to take his hand. "I love you, too, Ron. I do." He covered her hand with his and smiled softly at her.

"Let's make a go of it then. I know I've been...well, I don't know what I've been. Wallowing, I guess. But I don't want to. Fred, he...he was always on about making people laugh, getting them to smile, you know? I feel terrible the way I've been ignoring you, it's just..."

Hermione cut him of by pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "It's alright, Ron. I'd never ask you to stop feeling your grief. But if you'd let me, I'd like to be there for you, and I'd like to think that someday, the pain won't be so deep, and maybe then we'll have chance."

Ron gave her a genuine smile and pulled her into his chest. She returned his embrace eagerly, savoring that feeling of comfort and security once again.

* * *

Outside, Draco scowled through the window as he watched the Weasel kiss Hermione. Why should he care? They were barely friends, they tolerated each other and had similar interests, that was it.

All the same, he trudged back up towards the castle thinking how nice it must be to feel wanted.


End file.
